


Get Some

by Cybertronic Purgatory (orphan_account)



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Violence, dub-con, pain fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Cybertronic%20Purgatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Or: Five Nights Lanius Spent with the Courier, and One Morning the Courier Spent with Lanius)</p><p>Kinkmeme fill. At the battle of Hoover Dam, the NCR – despite the blood-thirsty Courier's attempts – falls, and the Legion wins. In the aftermath legate Lanius takes the Courier as his wife, but what starts out as a captive trophy soon develops into a power-play between two of the most ferocious, lethal forces the Mojave has ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When the initial euphoria of the victory at Hoover Dam wears down, the casualities and captives are counted and lined up, the most promising ones put on parade in front of Caesar. There is little potential in them to Lanius, who watches the proceedings without interest, longing only to be away from the sniveling profligates. 

That is until a commotion down the hill has them all stirred into action, and a purple-haired woman with an otherworldly growl permanently in her throat breaks free of her chains and punches five legionaries to the death before the Praetorians sweep down upon her and has her pinned to the ground, knocking her unconscious.

”Still the spitfire,” Lucius comments on Caesar's side, a respectful tone in his voice even as she is dragged away by her arms.

”Is she the Courier?” Lanius asks; Vulpes nods once, already pre-occupied with thinking of all the ways in which he could torture her for the offenses she has committed. ”I will take her.”

”You'll be too heavy-handed in punishing her,” Vulpes says dismissively. ”She'll be dead before the night is over.”

”As my wife,” Lanius adds.

Caesar is unwilling at first, even showing the Legate all the other fine conquests of the broken army which opposed them, but they are all too pliable, already too broken. ”I had planned to crucify her as an example,” Caesar says, pinching the bridge of his nose. ”Just the thought of her kept alive is giving me a fucking headache.”

Lanius, however, is adamant. 

”Have her.” Relenting, Caesar glares at his Legate. ”Just take her and destroy her.”

He finds her waiting in his tent, heavy chains keeping her lithe body pinned to a chair. It's difficult to believe that she, the tiny little whirlwind with raw knuckles and a bright, purple mohawk is the one who has caused such misery for the Legion. In a way, he admires her, because of her sheer lethality, the way in which she meticulously eradicated all their outposts across the river, even seeking out the Frumentarii and slaughtering them – and all of it done with her bare hands. 

Her dark eyes follow him as he approaches, staring right past the mask as if she could see his eyes behind it. 

”You were to be executed while the Legion celebrated your death,” Lanius begins, watching her bruised face for a reaction. ”The crows would have feasted on your entrails. Instead, you are mine.”

”Kiss me,” she says, as if she has not listened to his words – or worse, that she has disregarded them completely.

”You presume to make demands?”

”I'm negotiating.”

”Without being in a position to do so.”

”If I'm to be your wife, I can make it extremely hard on you, or just really hard.” She shifts in the chair, flashing a brilliant and predatory grin. ”Kiss me, and if you're good, I'll consider behaving.

  
  
There is nothing harmless about her, Lanius realizes, and slaps her across the face. The pain barely registers, a fire lit in her eyes that fix upon him as she waits; when he removes his mask she darts her tongue out and licks at the split in her lip, taking in his grey hair and scarred face. Without warning, her cups her delicate face and kisses her, her swollen dry lips working against his, passionate and hungry, unlike any slave he has ever taken. His tongue meets hers and she moans, a thick wet noise that has him smiling when he pulls away.

He loosens the chains and her fist immediately connects with his jaw, but she's smiling as she dances away from his grasp, winking at him as she lunges towards Lanius again. Where he has brute strength, she has an agile speed, moving smoothly out and away each time his hands are about to crush her. It takes a miscalculated step from her and he wrestles her to the ground, straddling her as she smirks beneath him, not an ounce of submission in her.

”Know your place, woman,” he hisses, tying her hands together, making sure the ropes dig into her tattooed skin. 

”Remind me,” and she still seems more excited than fearful when he rips her clothes off – nearly every inch of her pale skin is covered in a tattoo, intricate designs depicting colorful motives, some marred and twisted by scars, others fading from the relentless desert sun. He runs a hand along her exposed torso, tugging at her supple breasts: she arches into his rough touch, moaning even as he tosses her face-down onto the bed. 

She pushes herself up onto her hands and knees, balancing precariously, determined to keep her gaze on him as he shoves her underwear down and sticks two fingers into her, coming away coated in her slick. He scissors them apart in front of her eyes, wet arousal webbed and squishing, displaying her wanton lusts. 

”Caesar demands that I render you harmless,” he says, shedding his armor and pressing his naked body against hers, weight pinning her to the mattress. A knee spreads her legs further apart and she gasps when she feels his cock brush against her backside. ”Know that if you do become harmless, I will kill you myself.”

He has never felt any satisfaction with the slaves the Legion has bestowed upon him prior, all of them too feeble to withstand him. It is Caesar's way, to have them be subservient, but Lanius has not forgotten how he likes them: for there to be a fight every step of the way, and for the light within them to burn bright. 

She may turn out to be a disappointment yet, but as he pushes himself into her tight sex, he thinks only of the present: that despite how snug she is around him, how she gasps and squirms, she does not cry or even try to escape him. Instead, she impales herself upon his turgid length, demanding her fair share of pleasure. 

When he hits her across the buttocks, she just looks at him over her shoulder, cheeks flushed and lips moist. ”Harder,” she says, and he takes her by the neck and shoves her face down into the pillows, choking off her air supply until she lets out a hoarse whimper and clenches around him. He lets go and flips her over, burying his cock in her pussy as he observes her coolly. 

The first thing he notices is that she doesn't cry – he finds it equally annoying as admirable, remembering no woman who could withstand his treatment of them in bed. Each thrust is met with a moan of pleasure, a buck of her hips as she grinds her clit against him. Any other legionnaire would call her defiant: Lanius has nothing but the utmost respect for the dangerous Courier, now in his possession.   


Taking her by the jaw, he bites into her chin, the tip of her nose, tasting the dirt and salty sweat before plunging into her mouth again. Fearless as ever, she nibbles back, moaning as his hand travels down and twists her nipple cruelly. 

All the while, she keeps her eyes open, and he sees in the dim light that they are a dark blue, one with skin darkening around it from a punch taken at some point during the night. She has taken a beating far worse than what most of the prisoners will take, and it's as if it matters little to her: he knows that she enjoys the pain, feeling her muscles clamping down for each pinched square of flesh, for each red welt his fingernails draw up. 

He claims her lips when he comes, shooting his seed deep in her: her legs actually wrap around his and pull him deeper, groaning as he hits against her womb. When he is spent, he stays inside her, the tight and wet heat keeping him from going completely soft. 

”You're the Legate,” she states, more as an after-thought than anything else. ”Lanius. I looked forward to killing you.” There's no disappointment, just a flex of her hips, legs still around him.

”Why did you chose to fight with the Great Bear?”

”Better benefits. And alcohol.”

He cups her chin, thumbing the bleeding cut on her lower lip. ”A foolish choice.”

”I had no delusions about what Caesar would do to me. What serving the Legion would bring. A bit ironic, really.”

”Here you are.”

”Here I am.” She sucks his thumb into her mouth, biting the fingertip lightly. ”When are you going to kill me?”

”Not for a long time.” He studies the peaceful expression, not seeing any change when he informs her of her future. ”Tell me, Courier, what is your name?”

”Does an enslaved wife need one?”

”You deserve to keep yours.”

She is quiet for a long time, suppressing small twitches in the arms tied above her head as he holds still on top of her; he takes the time to note the two scars at her temple, the tell-tale sign of a survived bullet wound – or in her case, two. She is the only he knows beside himself to have crawled out of a certain grave, and he cannot help but respect her, knowing that she is meant to be beneath notice, but strength and unbending will like hers – like his – it can't be ignored. 

”Esther,” she says finally, voice milder than before.

Lanius feels himself growing rigid again as he bends down to bite her collarbone, drawing a scream of pleasure from Esther.   


 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the Legion, torn between their hatred of Esther and fear of the Legate, watches every move she makes in the camp, trying to see each toss of her head as an insult, each smile as an attempt to goad them.

Most of the time they're not wrong, but as she goes where Lanius goes, there is never a chance for them to act upon it. He keeps her in his sights, always following her out of the corner of his eye. Nothing like the threat of the Legate to keep the men in line.

Until now, that is: a group of recruits, thinking themselves invincible and entitled after the victory at Hoover Dam, and too ignorant to remember a woman's face, spot her as she's perched on the cliff outside Caesar's tent. Too absorbed in reading the book given to her by a scowling Caesar at the wedding ceremony, she does not look up when they surround her – the rapt expression as she delves into another fictional tale is one Lanius finds himself admiring often.

“Damn recruits,” Lucius comments by his side, watching with that disapproving frown that poorly conceals his amusement at the Legate's unconventional wife, “that will not end well.”

It was only a matter of time, Lanius thinks. He gives one final glance at the table before him, maps over New Vegas spread out over which they have poured and argued for hours; Vulpes wants to move in immediately, Lucius thinks it better to destroy the last pockets of resistance, and Lanius prefers to see at least half of it razed as a reminder to their enemies of what happens when one attempts to fight the Legion and loses.

“Profligate whore,” one of the recruits hiss at Esther, yet she only wets a finger and flips the page, unfazed at their presence. But Lanius can see that she is waiting, ready to spring into action when they cross the line – it's in the way her left eyebrow twitches, as he has learnt from their long nights together, a tell-tale sign she is aching to put her fist to someone's jaw. She still punches him sometimes, and mostly follows it up with a kiss.

The young men, however, think she is just another recent slave who has yet to learn where she belongs – the way she holds her head is defiant, not even Lanius can deny that.

“They have made a poor mistake,” Vulpes says dryly, glancing at Lucius with one eyebrow raised as Lanius removes himself from their presence and approaches the group surrounding his wife.

One of them – a recruit barely a week into his training, from the look of his scarred legs – rips the book from her hands and spits in her lap. “A shameless slut flaunting herself. You deserve nothing better than to be broken in!”

The first one who insulted her begins to laugh, but never has the chance to let it all out before Lanius has him by the throat, gloved hand reaching into the wide-open mouth and pulling out the filthy tongue by its root. Lanius holds out the tongue in front of the other men, squeezing it to a pulp between his fingers as he speaks.

“This woman slaughtered men thrice your greatness without blinking,” and he sees the shiver of fear in their faces. “She was the sole reason the NCR even managed to put up a fight: she is the Courier who cannot die. Now, she is my wife, and you will show appropriate respect.”

He throws the man to the ground, and the pathetic recruit crawls to her bare feet, garbling a guttural excuse while pressing his lips to her feet, blood spilling onto her skin. She kicks him in the rib for it, and Lanius hears the unmistakable wheeze as it snaps off and punctures a lung.

Unlike the Legate, she will do more than maim when let loose, and as much as he wishes to see her in all her glory, he is the one who must show these undisciplined men what it means to touch his wife.

Taking Esther by the waist and pulling her flush against him, he notes for the first time how short she is compared to him, the back of her head barely reaching his shoulder. Giving her hip a possessive squeeze, he points his sword at the one who took the book of hers. “Return it.”

The legionnaire swallows once, then reaches his arm out.

“Apologize,” she demands with that cruel little lilt in her voice that makes Lanius want to throw her to the ground and take her until she's limp.

“S-sorry,” the man pushes out, eyes wandering between Esther and Lanius in trepidation. “I-it won't happen again, ever, I swear.”

Esther takes the book from him, pressing it to her chest, the other hand rests on top of Lanius' gloved hand, one finger discreetly stroking along his knuckles.

“It will not,” Lanius says, and slices off the man's arm. As blood spurts out he feels her chest shaking with silent laughter, and then the tent flaps part and Caesar is observing the spectacle, the small vein at his temple throbbing as he kicks away the severed limb.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Caesar exclaims in frustration over the mess. Vulpes, ever the smooth tongue, comes to his lord's side and begins recounting the events in a whisper while Lucius shouts at the Praetorians to clean it up. The two dismembered men are dragged away, their imminent death from blood loss certain; the rest of the men are rounded up by two guards and taken to be dealt with later.

When Vulpes goes silent having exhausted the events, Caesar points at Esther. “You! Get in the tent, now!”

Lanius holds on to her shoulder, ushering her forward as they all file inside. Vulpes disappears into the back while Lucius take up position at Caesar's left side of the throne. Lanius brushes the small of her back before stepping away, and she stands alone in front of Caesar, still cradling that book. The entire front of her dress is covered in blood that drips down onto the carpeted floor, leaving a small pool that she curls and uncurls her toes in as she waits.

“I don't care how this happened,” Caesar snarls after a while of glaring at her. “That you're still alive is a fucking disgrace, but that Lanius can't even get you to be a servile slave? I don't even know where to start with you.”

“An enemy as her takes a while to mould,” Lanius says, unconcerned with what his lord thinks. Esther is as he wishes for her to be, and he has no desire to break that fierce spirit in any way.

“You haven't even collared her!”

“We collar our slaves, not wives.”

“With her, I'm making an exception, because I can't have her doing this to my recruits.”

Vulpes re-appears, holding a silver collar in one hand and a leash in the other, and Lanius sees the twitch in Esther's hand, the knuckles whitening around the tome.

“Not technically one for a slave,” Vulpes says smoothly, opening the hinge and approaching her. “But for the... 'New' wives of officers. Who need a reminder of who they are.”

“I know perfectly well who I am,” Esther retorts sweetly, “but everyone else seems intent on forgetting.”

Seeing what's about to happen, Lanius snatches the collar from Vulpes, the desert fox looking most annoyed at being robbed of the pleasure – she mostly seems disappointed that she can't surprise the deceptive spy with a swift punch to his face. As Vulpes moves away from them, Lanius thumbs her neck, the smooth skin thin and delicate despite the odd swirl of a tattoo needle upon it.

“Remind her, Lanius,” Caesar seethes, making it clear he will tolerate no further delays. “Make her obey.”

“For now,” she says in a voice so low only the Legate can hear. He closes the collar around her neck – the fit is eerily perfect, not digging in nor leaving any spare room – and it crosses Lanius' mind that Vulpes may have had more than just torture planned for her at one point in time.

If so, Vulpes betrays nothing now, merely watching her in that indecipherable way he does with everything. “Now, woman,” he says, “who are you?”

She glances up at Lanius, her lips moving quietly, mouthing her name – 'Esther' – before she clears her throat, turning to look at Vulpes. “Wife of Lanius.”

“Good.” There's a wicked gleam in Vulpes' eyes as he utters the next words. “Show it.” She raises one eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. It's enough to provoke Vulpes, who adds: “And take off that disgusting dress.”

If Caesar wasn't here, Lanius would have the fox's head on a spike.

She, however, simply pushes the book into Lanius' hand as if that is the most important thing for her at the moment, then shrugs out of the stained clothes, tossing them impetuously at Vulpes who catches the dirty rags with a sniff of his nose.

One hand finds her way past the skirt covering his groin, undoing the protective armor and reaching in to cup his cock. The mere touch of her hand makes him stiffen instantly, and she flashes him a smile – he sees the drying blood on her chin and lower lip cracking – and she kneels down, one hand on his thigh and the other wrapped around the base as she presses her mouth against the swollen head.

Vulpes shamelessly keeps his eyes on her mouth, and Lanius puts his hand on her cheek to cover the view. She, however, scrapes her teeth against the sensitive skin of his cock's underside, a clear warning. When he moves the hand away she parts her lips and takes the semi-rigid cock as deep as she can.

Lucius lets out a groan and averts his eyes, owning a shred of honorable behavior despite the noticeable bulge at his groin. His arms cross when she moans around Lanius', body arching as she slides one hand down, tweaking her nipples until her throat relaxes and she can take him further, the tip of her nose buried in his pubes before she pulls him out. A long string of saliva hangs from her tongue to his tip, and her eyes move up to his masked face, knowing exactly how to see past the layer of gold and pin his gaze as she licks up the spit and glistening drip of pre-cum along the fine slit before swallowing him deep again.

The hand on her own body travels further, slipping between her legs, fingers playing with the wet folds, the squelching making even Caesar shift position in his seat. The moans vibrate through her warm mouth, and Lanius barely has time to cup the back of her head before he comes, pushing her all the way down his length. Her nails dig into his balls, teeth gnaws at the root as she works to swallow it all, but as he pulls out some of it dribbles down on her chin and chest.

“Enough,” Caesar mutters darkly, waving a hand dismissively. “Take her out of my sight, Lanius.”

“My clothes,” she says, rising on unsteady feet, not bothering to wipe herself off. She is a depraved sight, one hand on her hip, licking her fingers clean as she challenges Vulpes with her eyes.

Vulpes tosses the leash to Lanius. “It's a short walk, and a warm night.”

She chuckles as Lanius puts the leash through the hook at the back of her neck, flicking spit in Vulpes' direction before taking the book from Lanius and moving one step ahead of him towards the exit.

They walk side by side, Lanius with the string held tightly in his hands, Esther scraping at the blood stains that have gotten on the book. No other dares to look at her despite the naked display of supple flesh in front of starved men; they all turn away, busying themselves with something else, anything. The flies are already buzzing over the pieces of flesh still littering the ground.

He holds the tent flap open for her and she ducks inside, heading towards the washbasin. Lanius, however, wants something else and he yanks at the leash so hard that she stumbles into his arms.

“Hello husband,” she murmurs, lifting his mask off and letting it drop to the floor before she stands up on her tip-toes to meet his lips. Her tongue tastes of his salty seed and her tangy juices, as well as the familiar copper of blood which makes him growl low in his throat, picking her up into his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist as his mouth travels along her jaw and down to her neck, nipping and biting as he moves them both to the bed where he drops her down on the sheets and stands back to get a full view of her.

Esther stretches out in all her naked beauty, one blood-caked foot dangling over the edge, a hand idly moving between her thighs as she gazes up at him with hooded eyes. He doesn't bother with removing his armor, leaning over her and dipping his mouth to lick at the mess covering her chest, tongue lapping up the cum and blood as she writhes.

“Mine,” he says as he works his way down her torso, tracing each curve and muscle, circling the small dip at her navel before plunging his tongue into it. She giggles and then gasps, working the hand between her legs faster until he nudges it away with his nose and laps at the warm wetness.

“Lanius!” It only takes three strokes of his tongue before she arches off the bed, fisting the sheets. She cries his name again, softer, and he settles between her legs as she trembles in the aftermath of the orgasm. “Lanius,” she whispers and smiles at him, one hand hooking around his neck and pulling him down so she can slide her tongue into his mouth.

His hands cup her ass as he lowers himself on top of her, and he can feel her hot skin burning even through the thick armor. She's still shaking when he enters her in one swift stroke, but she has a blissful expression gracing her features, and with fingers hooked at the neckline of his breastplate she bucks upwards, meeting him on the down-thrust.

They both groan, but then she hisses, twisting her head to the side. “Remove it,” she commands, and he fumbles with the latch before the leash is removed. There's nothing he dares to do about the collar, knowing he's about as likely as snap her neck off as the silver metal itself.

“I will make Vulpes remove it,” he promises, throwing the leash away, “and I will make him kiss your feet afterwards.”

“You're too sweet.” She moans, her sex clenching around him as she rubs her breasts against the plated surface of his armor, gnawing and sucking on his lip as she does.

Lanius can't forget the way the desert fox looked at her, the way he attempted to humiliate and degrade her in front of the Legate. The anger courses through him and he slams into her with force that draws a surprised scream from her; then he pulls back and out of her, the tip of his cock teasing along her slit as he puts his forehead to hers.

“If any man insults you... If any man lays a hand on you...” He thrusts into her once, deeply, and then out again, hoovering at her entrance as she bucks and whimpers for more. “They will be torn apart by my hands.” He catches her swollen lip between his teeth, biting sharply before letting go, laving at the shining bite-marks. “You are mine.”

“Yours?” she questions, tone mocking even as he can see the pleading and yearning in her face.

He inches forward into her, achingly slow, pinning her down so she can't move. “Say it.”

Her eyes glitter darkly before she reaches up and whispers in his ear. “I am mine.”

With a frustrated growl, he takes her so hard she screams. The bed groans beneath them, her body crushed into the mattress. “Say it,” he repeats, tugging at the tail of her mohawk, “say you are mine.”

“Mine,” she moans, “I am mine... I am...”

“Say it!”

“Yours...” Then her inner muscles clamp down on him, and her body pulls him along with hers over the edge, reaching their climax together in a mess of tangled limbs and sheets.

Lanius rolls over onto his back and closes his eyes, breathing deep as she gets up and wanders off to wash herself. His eyelids sag as he thinks of Esther, of how much trouble she has caused already after a mere week as his wife. But there is no other woman possessing such beauty and ferociousness as hers, a powerful and heady mix that has him wanting to rip a man's throat out if it would make her smile – and he knows it would, her blood-thirst unquenchable.

There's a sigh passing from her lips as something shatters. ”Tell Vulpes that if he ever collars me again, I will gouge his eyes out and wear as earrings.” She throws the broken collar, snapped in two, on the pillow next to his head.

“He knows,” Lanius mutters, feeling her dripping wet hand sliding up his thigh.

”If you ever try to put a collar on me again...” She wraps the leash tightly around his cock, cutting off the blood flow with a tug. ”Well, I think you can imagine, dear husband.” And with that lovely wicked smile of hers and the burning fire in her eyes, she kisses him roughly.


	3. Chapter 3

It's Lanius' last return to Fortification Hill: New Vegas is secured, the Strip purged and the immediate nearby areas under control. He has travelled to deliver the news to Caesar personally – the city is theirs, the inhabitants are ready for assimilation into the Legion, the buildings waiting for them to move in. Not that he cares for the city itself, it will just be another place to rest between the true glory of battle.

Stepping ashore from the raft, the late evening sun casts long shadows on the ground, and further up the hill he can see the braziers beginning to glow. What catches his attention, however, is the group of legionnaires ahead and the unmistakable sound of flagellation of the flesh coming from where they are.

As Lanius approaches, the men part, some leering and others fearfully jumping out of his path, but even before he comes to the center of the circle he knows.

In the time he's been gone the vibrant purple of her mohawk has dimmed, and the lavender hair hangs in limp curls down one side of Esther's head as she kneels on the ground, Vulpes lashing at her exposed back.

There's a rush of pure rage through his veins, but he controls himself as she turns her head and sees him. Her entire body is tense and covered in filth and sweat – not to mention the bright red gashes, some bleeding fresh and others crusted – but her piercing eyes take the worst edge of the anger off.

Vulpes gives pause, following Esther's gaze and uttering a disgruntled noise. ”You have returned early,” Vulpes notes coolly, unmoved by the Legate's presence. ”And what a sight to arrive back home to.”

”Vulpes,” Lanius says, voice a cold and dark threat. ”What is the reason for this transgression?”

”She brutally killed my new wife,” Vulpes explains between loud cracks of the lash landing on Esther's bare back, the muscles of her jaw tensing at each impact.

”I didn't know she was yours, Vulpes,” Esther comments, nose twitching as she barely manages to conceal a gasp when a particularly harsh blow lands on her lower back. ”If I had, I would have enjoyed it more.”

”I demanded the fair justice of such a heinous act, but this is all I receive.” Using the handle of the whip, he tips her chin up, forcing her to look at him: she's still all defiance and insolence. ”My offer still stands,” he says to her, but she spits at his feet.

”The sun goes down soon. There's no point.”

”Indeed.” Vulpes smiles, kicking her knees apart further. When she sways, he hits the back of her thigh, the wet lash spattering the skin with blood. ”Considering her husband, I offered her to end this torture prematurely if she showed proper repentance. But she is stubborn and incredibly resilient, and have survived this abuse from sunrise until now. I can see why you picked her.”

Lanius' temper flares, but he stays his hand, suppressing the urge to snap Vulpes' neck clean off. It's true what she says, her suffering at the Frumentarii's hand is soon to end, and she seems intent to see it through to the end. The lashing has left her weakened though, he can tell in the way her skin is two shades paler than usual, her lips dry and a shudder passes through her at intervals. He estimates that given another hour or two, she would not have been able to withstand more.

So Lanius watches as Vulpes makes the most out of his final minutes, the sun dipping lower and lower and the lash falling harder upon her skin. Lanius takes the time to survey the damage, and notes that very little skin has gone untouched: her arms are criss-crossed with marks and her chest as well, Vulpes having saved the back for last.

Vulpes' face betrays no emotion, a calm and collected veneer of tranquility until the moment where he stops and he sighs in frustration. Esther doesn't react, breathing through her nose, bracing for the next sting of pain to wreck her body that doesn't come.

”That will do it,” Vulpes says, rolling up the bloodied whip in his hands, and Esther cautiously lets her arms fall to her sides from where she's kept the fingers laced behind her neck, body stiff and fumbling as she stands up on shaky legs.

As she takes one step towards Lanius, Vulpes taps the whip against her shoulder. ”Just one more thing.” He reaches into a pouch at his waist and grabs a handful of a powder. With a precise hand, he begins sprinkling the salt into her open wounds. She squeezes her eyes shut, back shaking with the effort to not give in to the pain. All the while, Vulpes has an annoyed smirk on his face, close and yet so far from what he wants to see.

At the precise moment that a shadow settles across them, Vulpes stops, taking a step back to admire his handiwork – a flogged and exhausted mess of a human, but still with that glare of poorly restrained anger. ”You're free to go, woman.”

She holds her chin up as the men part to let her through.

Lanius gives Vulpes one last look, but the Frumentarius ignores it, busying himself with running a rag over the whip to wipe away the blood.

When they're half-way up the hill she stops, leaning forward with hands on her knees as she breathes in deeply. ”I will kill Vulpes,” she seethes, spitting out a copper-tinted mouthful of saliva on the ground.

”Like you killed his wife?”

”Don't lecture me, Lucius tried to do that when he was mediating this spat, and you may be fucking me but know that I –”

Lanius, grown impatient with her hoarse ranting, hooks one arm under her knees and lifts her up, putting her on his shoulder. She weighs even less than he remembers, and he can feel the blood trickling between the openings in his armor as she squirms and gives him a few weak kicks with the heels of her feet. His heavy hand stills her movements and she relents.

”Fine,” she says quietly, and he can hear the exhaustion as he carries her into the tent and puts her down on the ground, noting the new golden-patterned carpets. The slave waiting makes a fuss of Esther's injuries before she ducks out to fetch Siri.

Wife and husband stand in silence, and Lanius considers that the noises around them are quieter than usual – indeed, the pervading atmosphere of the camp is subdued. Something has happened in his absence, an event which has put everyone on edge.

As the healer enters he departs, and within a few steps outside he hears the strangled cry of Esther biting back a full-blown scream.

Lanius finds Lucius with the priestesses, overseeing a sacrifice to the Gods, the floor caked with old blood even as new washes over it. In the days the Legate has been gone, the Praetorian leader has gained a few more grey patches of hair, and the dark circles under his eyes run deep.

”Good to see you, Legate,” Lucius says blankly.

”I return to a hill where instead of celebrations and living eyes, I find fear and apprehension,” Lanius says, stepping over a pile of brahmin heads.

”Caesar has been bed-ridden for seven days. He's alive, but...” Lucius shrugs. ”He needs a competent doctor if he is to survive.”

”What happened?”

”The usual, a headache, pain, and then he fell unconscious. We still haven't been able to wake him up.”

The chant of the priestesses drones on monotonously, stepping in and out of blood pools as they move between altars, shoulders sagging from too many hours of continuous prayers.

”So we wait for a miracle.”

”Vulpes hasn't been idle: he's been searching the slave camps for medically trained people, but found no one whose hand wasn't shattered. All the Followers have disappeared, and he's sent out the Frumentarii to find them.”

”He seems concerned indeed when he takes the time to flagellate my wife.”

Lucius furrows his brow. ”Those two have been clashing ever since you left, to the point where Caesar restricted her to staying in the tent. Of course, when he fell ill, all those rules mattered for little. It was only a matter of time, I guess.”

”Vulpes had no consort when I left.”

”She was a recent captive. NCR officer, big name in the army, about as temperamental as you could expect.” Blood spatters onto Lucius, who brushes it away casually, shifting the weight of his body from one foot to the other. ”I was discussing possible solutions with Vulpes when Esther is dragged in by two of my men, and I had to mediate a fair sentence for the transgression.”

”I appreciate the mildness of it, Lucius.” There's nothing left to know, and Lanius turns to leave, tossing a few coins at an altar. He wills up an image of what he asks the Gods for, namely swift recovery, but Esther floats into his mind before Caesar, much to his annoyance. ”I will leave in the morning.”

”Take your woman with you,” Lucius says. ”Just take her with you before she razes the entire camp.”

He stands by Cesar's side, the minutes ticking away as he watches the aged man sleep without a single movement beyond the rise and fall of his chest. There is nothing Lanius can do, but he needs to see it with his own eyes, the ravages of time and disease upon the son of Mars. If this is the way his lord will go to the death, it is an inglorious one.

In his own tent, he is welcomed by Esther sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed. Gauze covers the worst of the wounds, some of it already stained a light pink, and the smell of salves fill the air.

”I could kill you, you know,” she says as he removes his armor in front of her. There's a tiredness in her words, a weight to the way she speaks them. ”Leaving me here for forty days without a fuck on the morning of your departure. Forty days of nothing, and then Lucius whines at me when I work it out through showing some legionnaires what I think of them. No, I should kill you.”

”I await the day eagerly,” he replies, rolling his shoulders as he hangs up the helmet on the armor stand.

”Now you're back, and I can't even kiss you without feeling like my skin is being ripped from my flesh.” She gives a short laugh, then looks up at him. ”I mostly want to punch you, though. This camp is so fucking boring. Ran out of good literature after a week, too.”

Her complaint jogs Lanius' memory, and he finds the bag he had a recruit carry, taking out the package wrapped in aged newspaper. When he hands it to her, she seems suspicious, even raising an eyebrow.

”What is this?”

”A gift,” he says, and she unwraps it, turning the book over in her hands as she reads the back cover.

”Thanks.” Her voice is quiet, uncertain. ”Why?”

”Do I need a reason?” He climbs into bed, seated back against the headboard. Not that he would admit that it hurts, but a piece of shrapnel from a make-shift frag bomb fighting resistance in Westside lodged itself deep and took many long hours to remove. Still, the damage reminds itself when he lies down, and so he has taken to sleeping sitting up.

She sits down in his lap, resting her forehead to his chest. He resists the urge to touch her, despite how she grinds against him, the heat of her sex burning through the the fabric that parts them. A sigh spills from her lips, and she gives in to a light sleep.

He takes the book out of her hands and reads the first few pages over her shoulder, the words not registering fully, his mind elsewhere: on Caesar, and the fragility of the Legion as it stretches itself over a new area. On the grey head of hair he has, and the way his body aches a bit when he rises in the morning.

He grunts in frustration, flipping the book shut. Esther stirs, snapping up as her back goes rigid, eyes darting around before finding his and she relaxes.

”Go to sleep,” she says, brushing her lips against his.

”There are matters to think about.”

”Such as?” She nuzzles his neck, eyelashes tickling against his skin.

”Caesar.”

”Yeah, shame about that. You're not so young yourself anymore,” she mutters, and then her breath is shallow again.

”You're right,” he says, but she only punches him in the side, groaning incoherently. Lanius kisses her forehead; despite it all, he can take pleasure in her strangely soothing warmth and presence.


	4. Chapter 4

When they reach Red Rock Canyon, all the legionnaires fear Esther. The first hour after leaving Cottonwood Cove, she heard one of them make a snide comment. Lanius watched as she tore the man's arm off and beat him to death with it, licking at the blood coating her lips as she resumed walking with a bored shrug once he was dead.

On the long march she has walked barefoot across scorching asphalt without flinching, keeping even pace at Lanius' side while reading. It looked odd at first, but as she explains when catching him stealing a glance that it's an old Courier habit. “Walking the roads and train tracks is safe, but boring. You pick up ways to pass the time.”

At the mouth of the canyon, near a burnt-out shell of a house, she changes into shoes and armor, a set specifically tailored to fit her. She grumbles, still annoyed that they destroyed her NCR combat suit, but as she strips down naked and suits up in front of Lanius, he sees the unmistakable smile on her face. Painting her cheeks with ash, she steps out, cocking her head as she regards the Legate.

“The fuck are we waiting for?” she asks.

He gives the order for the assault to begin, the men rushing the valley. She gives out a blood-curling shriek of excitement and nearly follows, but Lanius catches her before she throws herself into the fray.

“This may be our last battle for a while,” Lanius says, stroking her jaw before presenting her with a gift: a ballistic fist. He secures the weapon onto her hand himself, noticing how she bites her lower lip hard enough to break the skin. “Savour it.”

In a flurry, she is gone, vanished in the red dust cloud swept up as part of the sacking strategy. Lanius follows slowly, cutting down any who try to escape. Their frightened screams and sobs echo against the cliff walls, and the chaotic peace of mind only found in fighting settles in, the dust covering the sky as the wails rise into a cacophony of despair.

When the dust finally settles, he finds Esther waiting, perched on top of a pile of still-warm corpses. She radiates the same glow as post-sex, and she jumps off the pile as he approaches, smelling of death and destruction. Around them the makeshift camps are searched and burnt, one by one, the fires tainting the darkening sky to a deep red.

“That was interesting,” she comments as he brushes a piece of flesh off her brow. “You know I was the one who convinced them to join the NCR?”

“Fates change,” he responds.

She closes her eyes for a second, and he wonders what she's thinking. If there's guilt or regret, or both, coursing through her adrenaline-filled veins. Never once has she spoken of it, displaying an apathetic interest in the Legion as well as the NCR, as if neither matters to where she is now.

“Weapons change hands,” she says, turning to look at the gathering of soldiers and slaves. “Fates are what they are, we just pretend they were meant to be something different.”

Lanius rarely knows what to make of Esther, and this is just another one of those moments. His unbreakable, unbendable wife who has no qualms about killing as long as she gets to do it, as long as she is the one sinking her fist into pliant flesh and shattering bones.

Then she laughs, disrupting his thoughts as she unzips the front of her skin-tight suit and rolls her arms, joints cracking audibly. “What's for dinner? I'm famished.”

As night falls, the captives are lined up to have their value estimated by Decanus Severus and Canyon Runner, the two soldiers warily weighing each of the conquered souls with their eyes before the swift decision falls.

The unwed men size up the fresh females, remarking on them as if they were slabs of meat instead of possible wives. When two get in a fist-fight of who will take the feisty Khan one, Lanius tires of their juvenile testosterone and slaps them both of the back of the head. It sounds like something cracks when one of them hits the ground, but they both clear off quickly enough so that the slave processing can continue.

Two women – Followers, to judge from their clean and unbruised faces – are already at work at the campfire, collars snugly fitted around their throats as they prepare a meal. He watches them as they slice and dice the meat, their fingers shaking as they handle the dull knives. One of them looks up and sees him, and she pales noticeably, eyes wide as she takes him in.

He turns and walks away, hearing a choked sob as he passes past the temporary holding pens and crosses. Tensions are still running high in the camp, much to his dismay: instead of enjoying, they are all anxious, however well they hide it. The Legate can smell a fearful soldier from miles away, and the air is reeking.

The reason is known, and it annoys him equally. While the victory at Hoover Dam was triumphant, it was a long battle, with heavy losses, and the Legion has taken great measures to fill up the ranks again. Young men with too much recklessness and not enough Centurions to beat it out of them. As well, the women and children from Arizona and Utah are set to arrive in New Vegas shortly, and the veterans are eager to see to about settling in the city.

Not to mention the fact that Caesar lies upon his deathbed lest a cure is brought to him.

“There are no free tribes left in the Mojave now,” Esther says casually, appearing seemingly out of nowhere between the rows of tents Lanius has drifted into as he walks through the camp. “I think I'm meant to congratulate you on that fact.”

“Where have you been?”

“About.” Intentionally vague. Just like she's always impossible on purpose. “Just wanted to have a look around.”

“You're meant to be kept on a short leash.”

Head tilted, she regards him with an infuriatingly superior smirk. “Funny, how you don't even have one of those.”

Growling, he gives her a slap on the ass but lets his hand rest there, cupping her through the thin, torn jeans she's wearing, no doubt scavenged from the loot pile. They have not slept together for two weeks, first as she was recovering from the lashing Vulpes had given her, and then further postponed as he never takes a woman on the days before a battle is to be fought.

Now she has healed, and the battlefield is won. She knows that as well, he can tell from the yearning way she presses back against his hand. He lets one finger slip between her thighs, stroking her lightly through the fabric.

“What happens now?” There is never any question in her if she has the right to know anything; she demands answers, and he gives them.

“The true rest begins,” Lanius replies. “In time, more wars will come, and I will seek honor in the fight when Caesar and the Legion calls for me. Until then...”

“You're not happy about that.” Her attentive eyes are all too keen. Pressing his hand up a bit harder he has her gasping, her palms on his chest to steady herself.

“War, like the tide, rises and falls.”

“Have you ever seen the ocean?”

“No,” he admits, reluctantly.

“I have. The sea, as beautiful, destructive and life-giving as it can be, isn't war. So your metaphor doesn't work.”

“We rest. It is as it must be. As Caesar deems it to be.”

Esther sighs, and using his free hand he thumbs her lip. She bites into the leather glove, pulling it off one digit at a time before spitting it out on the ground. “I'm going to get bored and cause problems. For Vulpes, for Caesar, and most of all for you.”

“Then I best find ways to satisfy your needs.” Hand naked, he feels the sliver of skin revealed between her breasts, sweaty and grimy. Under the smudged tank-top, she wears nothing, the nipples stiffly poking out. He pinches one and then the other, enjoying the poorly concealed grunts of pleasure they draw from her.

“You better,” she grits out, flicking one finger against his mask. “Keep it on.”

He undoes the button-up fly and pushes down the fabric, his finger immediately parting her already wet lips and sinking into her. She hisses at the touch, devilishly tight and responsive, and when a second digit joins the first she bucks against his hand, riding it.

Lanius would never say it aloud, but he has missed the feel of her wet cunt, how it wraps around him when he fucks her. She claws at his armor, standing on her tiptoes as he drives deeper, curling his fingers to press against the spongy patch that has her unravelling. As she clenches and goes tense, he swipes his thumb over her clit: she chokes a scream and collapses against him, sweaty and panting.

He removes his fingers despite her protests, silencing her through pushing them into her mouth. She sucks him clean, but not without the sharp sting of her teeth nearly breaking the skin. All the while she has a look in her eyes, a gaze so intense that his cock hardens.

“Legatus!” A recruit stutters behind them.

Lanius looks over his shoulder, knowing that the boy in question already once defecated himself under the strain of the Legate's glare. “Yes?”

“One of the slaves, he's... Asking to see your wife.”

She quirks an eyebrow, letting go of Lanius' fingers with a wet pop. Wordlessly she follows the boy as he moves ahead, and Lanius notes how she pulls her pants up, walking with a tender gait.

Too curious not to miss who dares to request the presence of Esther, he arrives to see her standing in front of a tall, blonde man from the Followers, arms crossed over her chest. The two of them are regarding each other with equal aversion, but there's also an element of surprise, however much they attempt to conceal it.

“Arcade,” she says, nodding curtly. “Forever a cockblock.”

“Esther,” he replies coldly, “I see life in the Legion is treating you splendidly.”

“No alcohol. No drugs. Could be better. Could be a free woman.” She shrugs. “Could have won the war, didn't, but hey, we all adjust to the circumstances. The Followers aren't doing too well, I see.”

“In the grander scheme of things... No, not really. We were fine, until you showed up here.”

“Shit happens.” Her jaw tenses, patience running thin. “What do you want?”

“Can't a man say hello to his favorite psychopathic serial head detacher?”

Launching forward, she stops her hand a few inches from his face, her fist under his chin. “You left me to go back to the Followers,” she hisses. “It was a blast while it lasted, you patched me up some, but that was then. This is now.”

Lanius watches as the man – Arcade – motions for her to come close, and they talk in subdued voices for some time. He's unable to hear what they are discussing, but he can tell they're both unhappy about it, though Esther seems to be leaning more towards the kind of state of mind where she's pondering the worth of snapping the man's neck clean off.

She is beautiful when angry; the way her muscles stand out more prominently, how the air surrounding her changes as if a violent storm is gathering... To Lanius, she is chaos incarnate, a vision of destruction. The once simple respect he held for her has shifted, grown deeper, grown fonder. It... Disturbs him.

The scent of food unfurls across the camp, soldiers streaming towards the source. As they pass her by Esther turns from the Follower, leaving the man with mouth hanging open mid-sentence. He snaps it shut and glares after her.

They eat at the campfire without talking, Esther walking back and forth across the ground as she eats from a cup cradled to her chest. The men talk, their conversation filling the night as they go over their plans for the future. Lanius cares little for it, wanting instead to tie his wife to a pole just stop her agitated pacing.

He notices the anxiousness in her eyes, the base lust to tear someone apart – but it's not what she truly wants, merely a mechanism to satisfy something deeper within. Only she's too proud to outright ask for relief.

“Enough,” he says firmly, and she finishes her mouthful, not obeying. “Enough!” he repeats, and his voice stops the whole camp – men and slaves alike turn to watch the two of them. No one dares to breathe as she throws the dirty dishes on the ground and steps up to him, bristling quietly even as she curtsies.

“Have I offended, my husband?” The warning in her voice is clear, but still she smiles. “Perhaps you should beat some sense into me.”

Recognizing the bait, Lanius still opts to take it. As he pulls her down over his knees, he acknowledges that there will be a retaliation for what he is about to do, but accepts the exchange. He needs to clear his mind of her, and how she has started sneaking past just being a conquest of great value and inching towards something else.

When his hand makes contact with her ass, she arches her back, planting her hands on the ground as she moans. Nothing she does is without purpose, and the men watching swallow soundly as Lanius strikes her again, harsher, the gasps growing louder and more husky.

Even through the fabric, he feels the heat and softness. She squirms, taking more pleasure from it than she ought to, the intention behind the punishment straying into a different territory. Around them, the men are shifting uncomfortably, the way she's moving and the noises she's making clearly affecting them. The final one hits at the seam where ass meets thigh and she jumps slightly, then grinds against his knee, desiring more.

He hauls her up into a sitting position, chin held in a harsh grip. The look in her eyes is indecipherable, equal parts wanton lust and burning anger.

“Go wait in the tent,” Lanius commands, and she lets out a soft laugh that drives him to slap her across the face. The metal of the bracers tear the skin, and blood oozes out in a slow trickle.

She touches her cheek, rubbing the bloodied fingertips together before rising from his lap. “I'll be yearning for you to come to bed tonight,” she whispers, so low that only he hears. With a lazy swagger to her step she leaves, ignoring the cheers of the men as they think she's finally getting tamed tonight.

The night wears on, hours passing as Lanius attends to the necessary weeding of the weak slaves and burning of the dead. Fifteen legionnaires dead by Great Khans, another seven by Followers of the Apocalypse, and four who failed to see the mines they stepped on. Such a poor batch of recruits, barely worth the clothes they wear. Give them another week or two, and they will die – if only there was still a proper war to fight. Now, they might survive to climb the ranks... Or would, if Lanius was inclined to let such dishonorable weakness stand.

Tomorrow will be another shedding of blood, but it will strengthen those who are of the proper make. Just because the Legion has lost many in the conquering of New Vegas, he does not intend to see them fall to lazy and sloppy standards.

Before he retires, he drags a cowering Khan out from the slave pens and pays the appropriate tribute to Mars for their victory. The warm, dark blood carries no omens with it, and he tosses the severed head onto the rest of the dissolutes that will be executed come dawn, so that they may smell of fear and tears in the morning. It will appease the God of War.

In the tent, there's only darkness. After having called her name once without a response, he undresses and lies down on the bedroll. The stones underneath dig into his back, but overcome with the urgent need to sleep, he gives in for a moment, eyes falling shut.

For a moment, he drifts in the dark void of dreams, but he's abruptly brought back when the familiar click of a shackle and he instinctively reaches his hand upwards, but finds it limited in range, held back by short, tense chains. Above him, Esther hoovers, a triumphant smile on her face as she kisses the key before flinging it over her shoulder.

“We have something to discuss,” she says, leaning close to his face, breath hot and moist against his beard.

“Nothing will be talked about while I am in chains,” he replies.

She slaps him across the face, hard enough to make him hear a faint ringing. With one hand in his hair, she tugs his head back, biting his chin. “Sorry, husband, I should have been clearer. I will talk, you will acquiesce to my demand. Easy and simple.”

Growling, he tries to shake her off, but she laughs and rides out the motion, fingers digging into his scalp. The chains won't budge, running under the thick bedroll, short enough to keep the hands stuck at his side. “Clever,” he mutters, and is met with another slap.

“Shut up.” She inches her bare sex closer to his mouth, the strong scent intoxicating despite the position she has him in. With another shift of her hips, she has her cunt above his mouth, and she rubs the labia against his lips. “Don't even think about biting.”

Despite her warning, he gives the apex of her thigh a nibble, but before she can retaliate he dips his tongue into her core, tasting her for the first time in two months. Just the first touch has them both groaning, and he swirls his tongue upwards, circling the clit as she jerks at his hair, grinding against him.

“If I save Caesar's life,” she says, breathless and punctuating her words with soft little moans, “he will reward me.”

Lanius grunts, the noise sending a vibration through her that has Esther whimpering.

“Caesar saved by the hand of a woman,” she muses, leaning back to angle herself as his tongue has her quivering. “I love the irony...”

Tired of her self-indulgent talk, he catches her clit between his lips and sucks on it, straining his neck to keep up with her wild thrashing as she screams out her climax, tearing at his hair, nails raking across his scalp. Not until she stops trembling and begins moaning again does he let go, and she slides herself down his torso, leaving a wet trail of saliva and juices as she moves towards his rigid cock.

Esther lies down on top of him, the tip of his cock merely brushing against her outer labia as she watches him smugly. Frustrated, he snaps his head up but she is out of range, her short height working in her favor.

“If Caesar wants to keep me alive as a punishment, I intend to make him suffer for it.”

“Did you ever think yourself to be anything but a reminder of how close the Legion came to losing?”

Using his legs he tilts his body so that her mouth is against his, and he kisses her roughly, Esther responding with an equally bruising force. He bites her tongue and lips even as he deepens the kiss, wanting more of her, but she pulls away and sits up, planting her knees on either side of his thighs as she balances above him, teasing her sex against his.

“You will release the Followers,” she says, closing two fingers around the base of his shaft and squeezing hard. The sensation is terrible and wonderful, and he throws his head back, teeth gritted as she laughs. “You will do this, Lanius. All of them will go free, except one.”

“And what then?”

“Caesar will live, and he will know that it was my doing.”

His patience running thin, he bucks up, ignoring the ache as he slams into her. Both of them moan, deep and lustful noises: she's so tight around him, muscles clenching and massaging him as he buries himself as far as he can.

“Say... It...”

“Yes,” he groans, straining to push himself to the hilt inside her.

The word has her letting go, and she impales herself on him, crying out as she slumps forward, a visible tremble in her shoulders. Then she's riding him, rolling her hips in rhythm with his thrusts, one hand snaking up to cup at her own breasts, tugging at the nipples as she glistens with sweat in the dim light. From his position he can barely see her eyes, but he feels them upon him, the unmistakable intensity driving him to increase his pace.

As he's drawing closer to his own climax, she closes one hand around his throat, pressing down to cut off his air supply. The action enrages and spurs him on, Lanius coming as he's being choked, hearing her scream his name from faraway before she lets go.

The air burns in his lungs, and it takes him a few deep breaths before he can see her clearly again. She's still moving, milking the last of the rippling orgasm from him before she lets him slip out, leaning elbows on his pectorals. Their skin sticks together, sweat dripping from both of them, and she dips her head down and licks along the defined muscles on his chest.

“And so the East was won,” she murmurs, smiling.

“You are one infuriating, impossible...”

“You love me anyway.” It's an off-handed remark, but she quickly averts her face. They have never spoken of that – and she seems utterly embarrassed by what she has said.

Lanius thinks better than to bring it up and drag it out, and instead bites into her hand resting on his chin. “Free me, woman, so I may show you how I feel about being tied down.”

The tease in her returns, the comment forgotten. She climbs off him, cum leaking out along the inside of her leg as she moves away from him. “Not tonight, I think.”

“It will only end with you begging for a reprieve.”

Out of sight, she laughs. “I like you the way you are right now.” Her voice is oddly muffled, and when she returns he sees why: she is wearing his mask, the long golden tendrils digging into her breasts as she puts one foot on his chest, tilting her head as she looks between the rising erection and his face. “And I think you're enjoying it too, husband.”

“You will suffer, wife,” he vows, even as she teases his cock with her foot, urging it to harden.

“Promises, promises.”


	5. Chapter 5

“She's faking it.”   
  
In the pregnant pause following Esther's statement, all that can be heard are the muffled cries of Caesar's woman from the bedroom and Esther's loud, open-mouthed chewing of an apple. Unseen behind his golden mask, Lanius smirks where he sits next to her on the threadbare couch of the Ultra-Luxe's penthouse suite: on the opposite one, Vulpes and Lucius both regard Esther with puzzled looks.   
  
“How would you know?” Vulpes questions, his eyes narrowing in distaste as Esther smiles broadly, pieces of fruit visible between her teeth.    
  
“Because I fucked her once and let me tell you, she was way more into it. Do you want a demonstration of how it's done?” She swallows a mouthful and takes a deep breath, letting out a moan quite close to the ones she makes in bed.   
  
“Enough,” Vulpes says. Lucius snorts discreetly, only giving a shrug in response when the Frumentarius shoots him a dark look.   
  
Esther pulls her legs up, snorting ungraciously. “Don't pretend you haven't thought about it,” she says. Knees swaying, she spreads them to offer a view for Vulpes, his nostrils flaring visibly before Lanius reaches over and pushes her legs back together. She snaps her teeth at him, apple skin sticking out; the sound of the bite denied is sharp and quick, and reminds him of all the times she's bit him.   
  
She is the first one who has dared to mark him, as if she owns him and not the other way around. Every act of obedience he wrestles out of her is only a succession, a show of submission that further underlines how much power she has over him. Their public life is just a thin veneer, a carefully constructed image she chooses to convey to others: that yes, she is a good wife, and yes, she does what he asks. The truth is... Different.   
  
He values that she does not pretend. That when she is dissatisfied with her lot in life, she fights it tooth and nail; that when someone hurts her, she hurts them back tenfold. There was never anyone else for him.   
  
Caesar comes with a loud grunt and a curse, and within a few seconds the girl is scrambling out the door, tears running down her cheek as she meets four pair of eyes. “Fancy seeing you here, Sarah,” Esther says, lips pulled into a tight smile.    
  
“Shit,” the blonde girl replies, choking as she pulls her blue vault jumpsuit tighter over her chest, attempting to cover up the full breasts. “I'm...”   
  
“Arcade's in the other room.”   
  
The girl nods and ducks through the door, Esther resuming her loud chewing.   
  
“Should you not go be with the other women?” Vulpes asks acidly. “This is no place for one such as yourself.”   
  
“Not in the mood to obey you.” She spits a seed that lands on his face, sticking to the cheek. Vulpes flicks it away without any emotion, disapproval as evident as ever. “Besides, I'm here to ask for my boon.”   
  
“The appropriate amount of coin was paid to you. Does your greed surpass your station?”   
  
“What can I say, I have always been in possession of a ravenous appetite.” She glances at Lanius' crotch, not an ounce of subtlety as she licks her lips with a wicked little grin.   
  
“How unsurprising.”   
  
“Both of you, shut the fuck up,” Caesar says from the door, fastening the belt around his waist as he comes out. While his recovery has been remarkably swift, his voice is a shade hoarser than it used to be, but it commands all the more. The men all rise to greet Caesar appropriately, but Esther stays sitting, crossing her legs and dusting off some dirt from the white dress she's wearing for the festivities of the night.   
  
Caesar glares at her, but she's unflinching.   
  
“To what do I owe the enjoyment of her presence here?”   
  
“Well, Caesar,” and she mispronounces his name on purpose, “I saved your life. I think I deserve a fair price for that.”   
  
Out of habit, Caesar rubs at his temple, motioning with his other hand for her to start talking.   
  
“Your war is won, your Rome has been founded, the Mojave bows to you... And were it not for me, you would not be here to see it. I ask only for one thing. Vulpes' eyes in my hands.”   
  
Vulpes lets out a muted laugh. “Unlikely.”

  
Esther snarls, and Lanius quickly catches her by the waist and pulls her to his chest, nails scratching at his arms as she twists and struggles to reach Vulpes. One arm pressed against her throat, she slackens eventually, short wheezing breaths as she grunts and still tries to break free.   
  
“And she slaughtered my wife,” Vulpes says coolly, approaching her. She snaps her teeth again, but he's just exactly one inch out of her reach, one of his long fingers stroking her cheek. “The punishment for that transgression seems insufficient.”   
  
“What would you ask for, Vulpes?” Caesar wonders.   
  
“Her, nailed to the cross.”    
  
Lanius feels Esther's heart beating faster, her shallow breath quickening and her spine tensing.   
  
She told him – somewhat – what had happened. That she knew Vulpes' wife from her time with the NCR, a certain Cassandra Moore who had been furious to see Esther languishing around in more or less total freedom in the camps, while she wore shackles and markings. One angry insult led to another, and before anyone could intervene, Esther tore Colonel Moore's head off and marched to toss it at Inculta's feet.    
  
When Lanius first heard of the brutal way she killed the woman, he was so pleased with her that he finger-fucked her until she screamed.   
  
However, Caesar is not the least bit amused. “I should have both of you crucified for keeping this bullshit up. This is just too much.” Then he crosses his arms, eyes moving between the Frumentarius and Esther. “She is Lanius' wife, but still a woman. Beyond that, she was our foremost enemy, and remains as a trophy, symbolizing much more than her little skull can comprehend. Her life isn't forfeit just yet.”   
  
“How kind,” she wheezes.   
  
“You'll settle it between yourselves. Take her, Vulpes. See if you survive.”   
  
Lanius tries to protest, but Esther worms her way out of his grip and tugs him insistently towards the door leading to the corridor, slamming the door shut behind them before she glances quickly down the hall and then lifts his mask up.   
  
“Do you trust me?” she asks, blue eyes intense as they bore into his.   
  
“Should I?”   
  
With all the lithe grace she has, she hooks one leg around his waist and pulls herself up into his arms, one hand pinching at the back of his neck. “You're a bastard,” she mutters, her tongue tracing his lips before he catches it and kisses her, tasting the apples she's been eating all day. The way she moves against him, all lust and sex and need, has him wanting to rip her clothes off and take her against the wall.   
  
But she breaks away, nipping with sharp teeth at the scar on his chin. “If you trust me, then let me be his.”   
  
The possessive streak in him flares wildly, disgusted at the mere thought of Vulpes laying a hand on her – she's  _his_ ; he growls, fingers digging into her soft hips while he pins her to the wall with a crushing force as he struggles to push her underwear to the side and take her. She rocks against him, one hand slipping down to join with his as one finger slides into her, the loud wet squelch followed by a thick moan.   
  
Then she wrenches his hand away and climbs off him. Naked feet firmly on the floor – she never wears shoes anymore – she takes his hand in hers and sucks on the finger covered in slick.   
  
“What are you playing at?”   
  
She lets go of his finger with a wet pop. “Vulpes won't survive the night. And...” Standing on tip-toes, she adjusted his mask back into covering his face. “I like you when you're jealous.” To rub the point in further, she whispers: “Have you ever considered that I wanted to belong to Vulpes instead of you, and this is all just a long, unresolved foreplay between me and him?”   
  
Before he has a chance to strangle her she has dodged past him into Caesar's suite, at Vulpes' side as the desert fox regards her with a strange mix of intense loathing and satisfaction. Esther winks at Lanius, but he finds that for once, he's not entirely sure he can trust her.

Out on the Strip, bonfires are blazing, the throng of Legion citizens and slaves creating a shifting warm mass of bodies that part for the procession of Caesar and Legatus. Caesar speaks, the last words inaudible as the thronging crowd bursts out into cheers: the war is officially won, and New Vegas is all theirs. At the corner of Lanius' vision, Esther stands by Vulpes' side, biting the inside of her cheek as Vulpes claps without enthusiasm.   
  
Vulpes elbows her in the ribs when he notices the disrespectful way in which she refuses to acknowledge what their lord is saying, but her response is to curl her upper lip into a snarl, baring the sharp incisor teeth. The action draws only a subdued chuckle from Vulpes, and he leans close to her ear, whispering a quick line before resuming listening to Caesar. Esther, on her hand, does nothing.   
  
It is that which surprises Lanius the most. The sudden restraint she's showing, not even a finger twitching even as they settle down in the secluded pavilion set up for them – even when Vulpes orders her to sit at his feet and eat from his hand. She has wanted that man dead for Mars knows how long, and yet she willingly obeys the commands he gives, sometimes even smiling in all the docile submission.   
  
Lanius is too preoccupied watching to even touch his food or the willing slave girls whose hands tremble as they stroke his golden suit of armor, fearful and eager all at once. One of them takes his indifference as quiet encouragement, body contorting as she practically drapes herself across him. Lucius takes pity on the desperate woman and encourages her to shift lap from Lanius to his. Caesar has already retreated back to his hotel room, his newfound virility seen as a blessing and sign of good vitality.   
  
“You're missing out on a fantastic feast,” Lucius notes, leaning back in his seat as the slave massages his calloused hands – the same hands that have trained Lanius and beaten countless young recruits to bloody pulp for daring to challenge his place as the head of the Praetorian guard.   
  
“This celebration is of little interest to me,” Lanius responds. “Marking the end of war and struggle, and everyone is rejoicing.”   
  
“You were looking forward to it.”   
  
“The test, the battle, yes. That was a cause, a fight, honor and worth determined in the perfection of blood-shed. This is...” He weighs the word, exhaling. “Boring.” The worst part is that it is true: on the Strip he still wears the golden armor with the heavy mask – as Caesar demands it. As Caesar has demanded that he put his sword down, and it now hangs on the wall of the penthouse floor in the Lucky 38. All the Legate can do is gaze and remember and wait.   
  
“She's made you restless,” Lucius comments with a wry smile.   
  
“This place would make anyone restless.”   
  
While they have been talking, Vulpes has pulled Esther to her feet and they pass out between the thin, tattered sheets of fabric as they leave. Lanius rises, but even as he dashes after them, intent to not let either slip out of his sight, he knows it is too late. Outside, there are too many, and her purple mohawk is indistinguishable in the sea of tall legionnaires and orange flames.    
  
Still he searches, up and down the Strip, even going to the former hotel in which Vulpes occupies a suite, but even though he thinks that there is a flash of tattooed skin and a red-knuckled fist, it's never there. All he can think of as he rides the rattling, too-small elevator up to the penthouse is the back of her head as she left.   
  
Hunched over in a cramped space, listening to the gears and metal, he thinks only of how she did not once turn to look at him during the night.

Up in the penthouse, Lanius undoes the fastenings of the armor, letting the plate slide off him and leaning the mask on the floor under the sword. Esther calls it the Wall of Glory Past, and he has hung the ballistic fist of hers there too, annoyed with her constant teasing. Their combat wear hangs on stands on either side when not in use – hers never is, not on the Strip. Caesar threatened to cut off her hands if she as much as wore anything but civilian clothing.   
  
In the mornings he often wakes up to her pacing along the panorama windows, sometimes looking to the west, most of the time down onto the Strip that is being re-made in the image Caesar wants it to be. Less neon lights and more... Something. Lanius has ceased listening to the small talk.   
  
The army leaves their weapons at home. The skirmishes are all won by the Frumentarii without need of involvement by Lanius. Standing by the window, gazing down at the lit-up stretch of cracked asphalt and humans tiny as sand grains, he feels it too: the boredom. The restlessness.    
  
In frustration he flops down on the couch, groaning as the old war wound makes itself reminded with a sharp ache in his lower back. The war he waited for, the one he had been shaped for, it came and went too quickly. In the distant future, there lays the promise of more lands to conquer, of uprisings to quell – Utah and Arizona are showing signs of unrest, have been for the last year due to the stretched-out war effort – but that is not the same. Tribals lack the power of an army. Of the NCR.   
  
Eyes closed, he reminds himself that it is part of the cycle. That battle only comes in sudden bursts, far and few between. That he should ignore the greying hairs and signs of aging...   
  
He wakes up from a shallow slumber, momentarily disoriented before he hears the tell-tale sign of rummaging in the kitchen cabinets. Springing up he runs into the kitchen, finding a sweaty and grimy Esther studying the contents of the fridge.   
  
“Hey husband,” she says distractedly, “do we have any pickles? I'm dying for some pickles...”   
  
“Where have you been?” His voice is hard, eyes on the back of her head where the strands of dyed hair are plastered to the shining skin. It's never like that unless she's been fighting. Or had sex. Both of them stir a raging jealousy.   
  
“You know, around.” She waves her hand. “Big place.”   
  
Growling, he slams the fridge shut and presses her up against it, small body pinned to the humming and clicking device that vibrates softly against them. “Where is Vulpes?”   
  
“Resting in a comfortable place,” she grunts, trying to slide out and away from him.    
  
The vague answers only incite Lanius further, and one hand grabs on to her hips, fingers digging in until she winces. “What did you do? You're sweaty, hungry and...” He inhales deeply, and somewhere under the firewood and concrete dust, he imagines there's a musky scent. Suddenly images flash by in his mind, of Vulpes taking Esther. “Did he fuck you?”   
  
“Does it matter?”   
  
Lanius takes her by the waist and slams her down on the kitchen table. Air knocked out of her, it takes her a while before she even thinks of squirming or moving away, and by that time he has her wrists held tightly as one hand works to move the clothing covering her crotch away. One finger lingers right above the clit as he leans forward, bringing them face to face. “If I find that he has as much as put a finger on you...”   
  
“I do tend to grow bored of just one man's touch,” she teases, but he cuts her off with an angry kiss, nipping at her teeth and tongue as he tastes her, claims her as his as she should be. As she is. She responds eagerly, tongues meeting, but even that grows furious as she giggles slightly, then she bites him hard enough to draw blood. “There,” she says when he pulls back. “Now I taste only of you. Satisfied?”   
  
Discarding her frayed underwear in one pull, he shakes his head. “No.” And he plunges one finger into her pussy and one into her ass. 

Esther became still, smile widening. “That's a new angle,” she murmurs, biting her lip as he curves both fingers. He notes how ridiculously wet she is, the warmth and softness, the muscles closing around him as he moves the digits in and out, trying to feel if she has been fucked. It frustrates him that he can't tell, anger impairing his judgement: she's like she always is, for better and worse. Mostly worse, he decides, grunting as he feels his own cock harden at the sight of her sopping wet cunt.    
  
“You must be really upset, husband.”   
  
The rage flares, and he jerks the fingers out much to her vocal disappointment. “Is this a game to you?” As soon as the question is posed, he knows the answer: the glint in the eye, the tongue tip smoothening over the gleaming row of teeth.   
  
With not enough time to brace himself for it, he takes the harsh kick full-on, the impact on the chin jarringly painful, his entire jaw shot through with blinding, searing ache. She grins and scrambles to get off on the other side of the massive table, but he has enough wits left to catch her ankle and drag her back. The nails scratch the smooth polished surface as she attempts to pull free, but once it fails she twists around, sharp nails clawing at his arms and chest, drawing blood.   
  
The fighting just turns him on more. He's solid as rock when Esther's fist meets his nose, a loud crack heard and the familiar trickle from the nostril onto his lips – as he stumbles back and tastes the coppery liquid, she jumps off the table. The way her naked breasts move as she breathes deeply, the flesh shuddering and rising and falling, the hard nipples pointing straight out, it's entrancing. For a moment he admires how beautiful she is when she wants to kill him, how divine she looks when there's blood on her hands.   
  
Then he remembers, and he shouts “Esther!” as she throws a chair at him to purchase some time, running into the adjoining room of the circular penthouse. The wood splinters when he flings it after her, and he follows her: they're both fast, even though she tears down furniture and tries to bar his path, she slips on the smooth floor and goes down with a small scream.   
  
Lanius scoops her off the floor and restrain her best he can: she wriggles and kicks and bites, until he grows weary of the trouble she is to handle and flip her so she hangs in front of him, face down and forward, legs kicking fruitlessly with knees hooked over his shoulders, her tiny wrists crushed to the breaking point in his hand.   
  
All he needs is to taste, he tells himself. He'll know then.   
  
He bites the inside of her thigh when she tries to squeeze the thighs together, and the muffled moan she lets out tells him everything he can already smell: the heady scent of her sex is intoxicating, thick and heavy and tangy. Nibbling at one of the lips, she softens a little in his hold, waiting for it as eagerly and expectantly as ever.   
  
Without concern for her pleasure he plunges his long tongue into her pussy, pushing in until he can't breathe. Lapping and sucking, he tastes nothing out of the ordinary, but the nagging feeling won't go away even as he drops her on the bed where she sprawls out on her stomach, groaning and arching for more.   
  
Kneeling down behind her he digs his fingers into her ass cheeks, spreading them apart as he runs the tongue from clit to anus, listening to Esther's whimpering. “Did he fuck you?” he asks again, teeth skimming the line where her tattoos trail off.   
  
“Vulpes can fuck me with just his eyes,” she moans, tossing her head back and laughing as he slapped her hard on the ass. “Oh,  _Vulpes..._ ”   
  
Pushing his tongue against her asshole, he circles the puckered entrance, feeling it twitch, pressing in briefly before she's moaning again – and again, it's not  _his_ name.   
  
Infuriated does not even begin to describe Lanius as he growls, flipping her over. The distinct sound of sheets tearing, her fists ripping the textiles apart, and then she tries to close it around his throat as a snare. She almost succeeds, Lanius wheezing and vision blurring at the edges, before he wrenches her hands away and has her pinned down and tied up with the ropes they keep curled around the bedpost.

Moving back, he notices the way her chest rises and falls rapidly, and he relents a bit. “Tell me.”   
  
“About the ways Vulpes takes me?” Knowing full well who she is pushing, she does it anyway. The consequences do not wait.   
  
When the flat of his palm connects with her breast, she screams outright and the skin reddens, but still it affects her in different, depraved ways. Instinctively she tries to rub her legs together to ease the pressure, but he has tied her ankle to thigh, keeping her spread and visible. Wetness trickles from her, staining the sheets further as he pinch and twist her skin cruelly, sitting back on his heels and pulling her onto his lap. The hands tied behind her back, she sways, unbalanced, before falling against his chest, their nipples brushing against each other.   
  
What she expects – his rigid cock in her – is what he denies, and there is a flicker of despair across her features, a needy grind of cunt against him as she makes it clear what she wants. “Did you think Vulpes could ever fuck you like I do? Hurt you like I do?”   
  
“He has... Ways...” She falters, teeth gritted as she is so close, the head of the cock brushing right against her opening and yet so far away. “Dammit, Lanius...”   
  
“Say it.”   
  
“Fuck me, Lanius!” she screams.   
  
It's not exactly what he wanted to hear, though between the anger and need he can't even form a clear desire of what it is he wants from her – so he lets his cock slide into her. Just one inch.   
  
That drives her insane, and she starts trembling with denial. Smirking, he tugs at her hair, tilting her head back so he can claim her mouth and pussy at once without any gentleness. She rocks against his insistent movements, moaning each time he lifts her up and drops her down. The bites are harmless because she can barely move, all of her a mess of exactly the same thing he's feeling.   
  
Most of all, he's feeling  _her_ : the sweaty skin pressing against his open wounds, the sting of her sharp little teeth, the inner walls of her pussy tightening around him as she gets closer and closer...    
  
But he's not quite willing to let her go there yet.   
  
He lifts her up so high that he slips out, and she flails as best she can, knocking her forehead against his shoulder before biting down on his collarbone when the head of his cock – lubricated with her own juices – presses against her asshole.   
  
“You are mine,” he says, pushing himself inside her rear, the muscles working to repel him unsuccessfully before giving in, and he slides her down his shaft slowly until she's panting and making small noises. She lets go of his shoulder, muffling a cry into his neck, and he stops when he is almost fully inside. “What did you say?”   
  
“I hate you.”   
  
He chuckles, thrusting upwards. “Likewise,” he whispers, kissing her forehead before he begins to move, slow at first, but the tightness has him grunting desperately, the impending release coming all too soon, and before he has what he wants.   
  
Putting a hand between them, he rolls her clit between thumb and forefinger until she's at the point of breaking too, and stops abruptly.   
  
“Why?” The question is a whimper, head thrown back as she attempts to move, but there is nothing she can do.   
  
“Tell me. Say it. I want to hear it.”   
  
She spits. “I fucked Vulpes.”   
  
He squeezes the clit, and she shudders. “Say. It.”   
  
“Fuck... He never had a chance to fuck me...”

There's another word about to spill from her, but that's enough for Lanius. He grants her what she wants, and she comes so hard that he feels the seeping wetness cover his lap before the clenching muscles has him shooting his release too, and they sit there for a few long minutes catching their breaths, sweaty and sticky and with wounds crusting.   
  
“What did you actually do to Vulpes, then?” Lanius asks when he's recovered enough coherence.   
  
Esther laughs softly. “He put up a good fight. Sort of.” She smiles up at him, all heavy-lidded eyes and gentle smile. “It was worth it though, you're an amazing fuck when you're jealous. I might have to do this more often.”   
  
He shoves her off him and she tumbles back on the bed where he covers her, kissing her – still angry, still rough. When they break apart for air, she licks her lips. “I got you a gift. Check the elevator.”   
  
Leaving her tied on the bed – it's not often he has her like that anymore, and he wants to savour the sight of her like that for a while longer – he walks to where the elevator opens up into the suite. Pressing the button the doors slide open, and he smiles at the sight that greets him: Vulpes hanging strung up by his heels from the ceiling, small lacerations across his naked body dripping blood down the body. His mouth is gagged, and the eyes gouged out, but he is clearly alive as heard from the strained sounds escaping the slowly clogging nostrils.   
  
“Surprise,” Esther says. Somehow, she has managed to break free of her restraints – again. Ropes trailing from wrists and ankles, she presents Lanius with his gilded sword. “I took my prize. You get the honor.”   
  
“What did you do with his eyes?”   
  
“Fed them to some mongrels in front of him.”   
  
His heart warms at how terrible she can be.   
  
Vulpes seems to react to their voices, suddenly twitching and moving despite the obvious pain it must cause him. Reluctantly, Lanius acts against his better knowing and removes the gag – the last thing he wants to hear that night is the fox's silver tongue attempting to sway him one way or another.   
  
“You are a fool, Lanius,” Vulpes says, ever cool and detached, voice sounding as if everything is still normal. Trained to the very end, as all in the Legion are. “She's nowhere near what you think.”   
  
“Will those be your dying words?” Lanius asks, impatient to skewer the deceitful son of a bitch.   
  
“Congratulations.” Vulpes spits out some blood. “Your misery is just beginning. She's pregnant.”   
  
The rage flashes through Lanius and he slices through the suspended body in one smooth move, right through sinews and bones, blood splattering the insides of the enclosed space before he grabs Esther by the throat and has her pushed up against the wall.   
  
“You lied!” he hisses, lifting her from the floor, her feet dangling free a feet up in the air as she tries to pry his hands away from her neck. “You did fuck him, you tricky little cunt!”   
  
“Idiot...” She coughs. “Yours... It's yours...”   
  
It takes him a few seconds to process what she's saying, but then he immediately drops her, stepping back and regarding her as she slumps back against the wall, massaging her sore neck. They remain silent, eyes meeting, but he does not know what to think.   
  
Then she sighs, taking his hand and placing it over her belly, pressing it down on the soft flesh. “There,” she murmurs, and he feels the tiny little bump there. They stay like that for a long time, Lanius simply palming the belly until she rolls her eyes. "Don't be so sentimental," she chides, moving out of his range as she sashays into the kitchen, calling over her shoulder: "Now did we have pickled fruits or not?"   


 


	6. Chapter 6

As Esther strokes Lanius' grey hair while he rests with nose buried in the curve of her tender breast, her fingers catch on the tangles she creates and he never sorts out, and she thinks of what Arcade said that afternoon.   
  
_In the medical tent, he shows Esther through the rows of beds and mattresses, pointing out each woman by name – if she has one, some of the lowest slaves stripped of everything to the point where they have no voice and thus nothing but a red mark to distinguish what they are instead of who – and describing their complications in great detail._

“Sarah,” he says, the Weintraub girl crying on the bed, curling up in a ball; Esther mentally refusing the other accurate description for the position. “Near-perfect health, flawed immune system due to vault conditions. Stress of changed environment and mental trauma at seeing her brother crucified, she drove a spike into her own stomach to get rid of what Caesar blessed her with.”

Next to Sarah's bed, a mother who has just given birth is bleeding to death, one shuddering breath at a time. “There's nothing we can do for Elizabeth.” Arcade looks pointedly at the soldier guarding at the supplies. “We've had five suicides this week. Even if I wanted to, I can't. Caesar has deemed it unfit to waste efforts on those who are wasted to us already, and so restricts access these days.”

Julie Farkas, attending to the newborn infant, cries quietly as she watches her old friend die, wiping the blood from the child's forehead.

“I get it,” Esther says as Arcade moves to show her another row, another line of misery. She jumps up on an examination table and sighs, picking at the scabs on her knees aggressively. “What are my chances?”

“I don't keep statistics over this.” Arcade is anguished at her incessant questions and constant visits – not to mention all the times the Legate marches into the tent, demanding to know something. The sight always amuses Esther, and she may be withholding more information that necessary. “Your medical history, your way of living, fifty-fifty maybe.”

She scowls. “That's not good enough.”

“That's all you get if you stay here.”

She purses her lips, thinking. “So what do you expect me to do?”

“You're enjoying privileges,” Arcade says with a shrug, but there's a twitch of anger in his upper lip, a tremble in the hands as he dabs alcohol on her scrapes. “Abuse them.”  
  
'Privilege' is a funny word to attach to Lanius. What comes to mind as she struggles to detach her fingers from his tangled mess of a hair, is luck. Esther knows luck, because it is what has kept her alive: luck that Lanius saw her fight, that he had remembered who she was even when the combined efforts of the NCR fell all around. Luck that he picked her, and luck that he has some twisted sense of deep attachment to her.  
  
Most of all, luck in Lanius is that he kept her from becoming Vulpes'... Whatever. Slave, whore, piece of meat, torture subject? He had been there when she was cornered on the Dam, his dark eyes watching as she was held down and disarmed, gagged and tied: he came to the slave pens where she was kept separated after she killed any slave who asked for it. Vulpes was the one who told her what awaited her at the top of the hill.  
Vulpes was the reason she screamed and flung herself at the guards, hoping they would beat her to death.  
  
Funnily enough, at that time Esther had ceased caring about life and death, if only because death seemed infinitely more appealing than being at the Legion's mercy. In that moment of crazed desperation and carelessness, Lanius had seen her and recognized the likeness.  
  
Different sides of the faction divide, but the same spirit. He still can't comprehend why she fought for the NCR, but she does not tell him everything, and he does not seem to get that she hates his Legion with a fiery passion and would see it destroyed if only she could.  
  
Already she has done a bit of damage, crippling the Frumentarii – the replacement for Vulpes is nowhere near Inculta's terrifying brilliance, and she smiles each time she sees Caesar look away from her in disgust. But Caesar thinks her harmless as long as she in Lanius' arms, and that is his mistake. It'll be his downfall... In due time.  
  
For now, there are other, more pressing, matters.  
  
Lanius nuzzles closer in his sleep, one hand possessively tightening around the other breast as she yawns. For a moment it seems as if he's about to wake up, but then the flutter of eyelids cease, and he just holds on.  
  
Calling him a dumb brute is to minimize what he is, though he has his moments. His knowledge of females barely stretch further than dominate, fuck and kill, and some of his questions regarding the pregnancy are absurd, so tinted by that long-lost tribal boy that still lingers, despite the greying hairs and neatly kept beard.   
  
Nestling her fingers at the back of his neck, she strokes the scars there, sighing. It's all so stupid, all of it seems like a dumb romance novel from the old world, but here they are, and somehow they haven't killed each other yet.  
  
She made miscalculations too, errors in her assumptions, but how could she have known he was such a good kisser to actually pique her interest?  
  
The sun is beginning to break across the horizon, and she scolds herself for being so sentimental. When she tries to push his head away he's roused from his sleep and immediately his lips close around her sore nipple. Lanius has been practically worshipping her body, growing curiously fond of it, noting each little change even though the difference is barely there – just fuller breasts, a small roundness to the belly – but the attention he lavishes upon it has every inch of her aching. Definitely a good ache, though.  
  
A finger slips downwards, circling her belly button reverently, and she hits him over the back of the head for being a tease before yanking at his hair, dragging him up for a morning kiss. His wide tongue brushes urgently against hers, warm and demanding, and she bites into his lip, tugging it out before letting go. It never fails to get him riled up.  
  
Lanius' erection is against her kneecap, and the mere thought of feeling it inside her makes Esther groan. With a smooth movement and flurry of dexterous fingers, she has him beneath her.   
  
Conquests such as him are not easy though, and he glares even as he puts his hands on the insides of her thighs, spreading them apart, thumbs rubbing circles up towards her sex.  
When the first rays of sunshine hit her back she leans back, feeling him rub at her clit, the cock standing high and hard against her behind.  
  
“How did Vulpes know?” Lanius asks, and before she has time to swat away his hand – he  _always_  does this, asking the questions to which he truly wants an answer when they're about to fuck – he grips her wrists with the free hand, the callouses scraping against the skin.  
  
“He was clever,” she replies, voice hoarse from sleeplessness.  
  
“The truth.” Lanius still harbors lingering suspicions about her fidelity, and she'd never come out and say that he's the only to have fucked her the last few months because she likes the jealousy, so she smirks and wiggle her ass against his cock.  
  
The truth is, she's not entirely sure, because she never gave him a chance to speak once she got him alone. Cutting tendons to render the limbs useless, cutting at his skin while the blood-thirsty mongrels trained to enjoy the taste of blood lapped and nibbled at him, circling her feet whenever she kicked them away. Killing Vulpes was necessary, mostly because she really hated him.   
  
She had not counted on Vulpes knowing, and definitely not on him telling Lanius.  
  
The truth is, she's going to hurt Lanius worse than she ever did Vulpes, but she's not sure if she'll enjoy it.  
  
With a knee jerked into his side, he lets go long enough for her to secure the shackles around his wrists. The shackles connect to chains that run under the bed-frame, and once on, nothing but the key will set the captive free. Lanius hates it when she does it, but she does love being able to do whatever she wants with him. She loves the fight as much as she loves the submission, that moment when he realizes he can't do anything but wait for her.  
  
He'll wait a long time, however.  
  
Esther climbs off him and calls for the elevator, blocking the door with a book as she hauls herself up the ceiling vent, grabbing the package tucked away there before dropping down – the carpeted floor still squishes slightly, the smell of blood inescapable. She shakes it out and begins dressing, and though it pinches a bit over her chest and hips, it fits somewhat. Rolling that awkward skirt-thing up (Lanius always gets annoyed when she calls it skirt, uttering a word she can't be bothered with learning) so that it doesn't hang half-way down her shins, she returns to the bedroom.  
  
Lanius, arms pulled apart and body stretched out, looks nothing short of beautiful as the sun touches his scarred body. The greying chest hairs tempt her closer, and she runs her hand over them, the familiar sensation bittersweet.  
  
“That is Vulpes' armor,” Lanius notes acidly.  
  
“Clever boy.” She kisses his bumpy nose, then shuts her eyes and smells him. Death and blood, sex and metal.  
  
There are many things she'll miss about him, and her lips trace a path down his neck, biting at the straining tendons and collarbone, tasting salt and musk. Sliding further down she comes face to face with his cock, and she can't help but feel nostalgic for it already.  
  
Squeezing it in one hand, she tongues the tip, keeping eye contact with Lanius.

“The truth is,” she begins, spitting in the palm of her hand as she begins working it up and down his shaft, “that I'm terribly bored.”   
  
Just as he is about to reply, she takes him into her mouth, as far as she can, and all that he can utter is a frustrated hiss as he struggles against the bonds.   
  
Boredom is part of it, but that feeling is what drives her now as she rakes her nails along his abdominal muscles, ripping the skin and shuddering in pleasure at each grunt and hissed Latin curse. Sex is a valid cure, but it only works for so long. The worst part about it all is that it still works fairly well for both of them, and many days they don't even leave the suite, just fucking and tearing the place apart. Caesar treats them like wild beasts, keeping them locked away and harmless out on the Strip, so they rage in their cage with panoramic view, waiting and aching.   
  
She's had enough of that, but that's not the only reason.   
  
“I'm bored,” she says again, tearing the leather skirt slightly as she takes him in hand and guides that rigid cock towards her cunt – just once more, one last indulgence.   
  
“And?” Lanius asks. He's not dumb. He knows there's something more, and he retains presence of mind enough to ask even as she slides down his shaft, each inch stretching and filling and just so wonderful to feel. For a minute she just sits still in his lap, eyes hooded as she looks down on him, simply relishing the moment.   
  
“And I'm going to drive you insane.” She laughs, snapping her hips so sharply that he jerks up before she starts riding him in earnest, the armor uncomfortable as sweat begins dripping and the breasts strain with each breath – but all of that can be forgotten when she reaches down and flicks at the clit, coming within a minute before she tumbles forward, digging her nails into his biceps.   
  
“I'm going west.”   
  
“No.”   
  
“I am,” she repeats, biting his nipple until he begins fucking her, slamming up into her with a force he has never applied before. It's mind-shattering, and she claws at his skin, bites at anything she can sink her teeth into, too short to kiss and fuck him all at once, and she wants to feel him come, wants to feel that hot liquid dripping out of her cunt as she walks away from the Strip.   
  
“You will not leave,” he grits out, tense and angry but most of all so close to climax, and she pushes down, giving it to him. He comes with a guttural groan, breathing in short bursts before he starts yanking at the chains. When they fail he tries to capture her with his legs, but she evades his reach, tumbling off onto the floor where she picks up the shoes and begins lacing them. The leather is moulded to fit Vulpes' feet and they hurt the thick soles of her feet, but she has no choice.   
  
“I'm going west, back to California...”   
  
“Esther...” His threatening tone sends a shiver down her spine.    
  
When the laces are done, she bends over him, hoovering an inch above his lips – close, but out of reach – observing the burning rage in his eyes. “You wanted a reminder of who nearly destroyed your army. Of who could have crushed you. What am I right now but a dulled weapon?”   
  
She will give him all the lethality he could dream of, bless him with another war. Licking her lips, she leans close to his ear, keeping her voice as a husky whisper, full of promise. “Come when you've got an army that can fight, come when you're ready.”   
  
As the elevator door closes, she hears him screaming her name, the sound of  _Esther_  bouncing down the elevator shaft. Tempted to add his name to discordant noise, she instead breathes on the cracked mirror, drawing a message with wetted forefinger.   
  
_Come get some. E._   


 

 


End file.
